The next day was the beginning of that period that led rapidly to the end. A few days later and all was over; there was no Red Band left to threaten New York, and I—I had suffered untold remorse for my cunning and deceit.

Meantime the uncertain breath of rumor that I had heard upon the Slip had grown into a gale of certainty. People stopped at corners in a frightened sort of way to discuss the former invasions of the French. The Coffee-House was full to overflowing, and the conversation always turned upon the last invasion of the County Frontenac, or upon our long immunity from northward danger. But at last, we all thought, peace was at an end. Certainty of the coming of danger was quickly followed by fear of what would follow in case of a descent from the Canadian frontier. It was a long way to Albany, to be sure, but the fort at Albany was weak. If that were once taken the enemy would have a free path to our very doors.

So the people fell to work in haste to repair the wall which toppled across the island in a miserable state of repair. The trench on the inside was cleaned out and deepened. New palisades were put in to replace some of the old ones that had rotted through and were ready to fall from their own weight. The gates were hung anew and a guard stationed at them. Sunrise and sunset saw them securely locked. While the gates were locked no one was allowed to leave the city without a pass signed by the governor and stamped with the great seal of the province.

Often by day you would see great swarms of people clustered about upon the ledge of rocks west of the city just at the foot of the stockade, with their eyes turned up river, as if they expected to see a French flotilla appear in sight at any moment. The little wicket gate through which I had fled with the suspicious sailors the night before Van Volkenberg’s disgrace was now seldom closed in the daytime. Through it staggered a stream of fearful people, ever on the lookout for the invader.

The excitement was no less on the island north of the city wall. All the little hamlets between New York and Harlem were making preparations for defense, drilling and mustering men into companies to meet the stranger. Every afternoon and evening the Red Band assembled on the terrace to practice the use of arms, marching and countermarching, and all things needful for the little army of the patroon. They moved like clockwork. There were no soldiers like them in the whole province; even the governor’s guard was not so well trained by half. Still there was no visible sign of danger. A post came in from Albany and reported that all was peaceful in the neighborhood of Fort Orange.

This ferment had grown to a head while our attention at the manor-house was attracted to other things. It was on the night after the death of Meg—or, was it the next night? I forget, but it makes no difference—that I sat in my room reading the little Bible that I had carried ever since the old days in France. Suddenly I was startled by a sharp scraping sound apparently in my own room. I listened a moment attentively and placed the sound low down near the door. There was a pause; then, after a moment’s silence, the scraping began again.

“Begone,” I cried, with a loud stamp of my foot, supposing, of course, that rats were gnawing in the wainscot.

At the sound of my voice there was a rustle like skirts in the hall, and then I was sure I heard light footsteps running away from my door. I rose quickly and opened it. All was dark in the hall, and there was no sign of any visitor. I sat down again, wondering who it was and whether the visitor would return. Perhaps ten minutes passed, during which I heard nothing, though I listened with both my ears. Then of a sudden, without any foresounds, the scratching began again. I rose very quietly with my candle in my hand, and tip-toed across the room. I took care to make no noise this time, for I wanted to surprise my visitor, and find out who she was. I turned the knob softly without letting the door give an inch, paused a moment to get my weight right, and then flung the door wide open with my candle held high above my head.

There stood Annetje Dorn, with her fingers to her lips for silence.

“Follow me,” she whispered. “But don’t make the least noise.”

She led me a long way till we came out after many wanderings upon a little balcony on the outside of the house under the eaves. In the shadow before us I could just make out the vague form of a man who was awaiting us.

“It is Pierre,” she whispered; and the next moment we were talking in guarded whispers. She had smuggled him into the house and up here so that he could deliver his message to me without danger of being overheard by stray persons about the house. But after all, his message to me was small enough, if it was worth being called a message at all. But I learned something of importance from him, for all that.

“Lady Marmaduke is getting so anxious that she would have it that I come and speak with you, danger or no danger,” said Pierre. “Have you any word to send her?”

I told him briefly that nothing of importance had happened. Then I asked him what news he could give me from the city. Matters were in a much worse state there than I had thought.

“The citizens,” said Pierre, “are like chicks without their mother.”

“They’d duck you if they heard that,” put in Annetje, who always enjoyed a fling at Pierre for his former escapade. “It is just the thing for people who talk too much. Now there was Long Mary once—”

“Never mind Long Mary or you’ll get ducked yourself. Monsieur Le Bourse, they are just as I said, like chicks without their mother. They run here and there and everywhere, chirping for the governor to do something. There is nothing he can do unless he loads up the guns on the Battery and shoots them at the bay. I wish he would. It would make safer ducking, which I should like in case Annetje—”

Her hand smothered the rest of this, whatever it was.

“If I were the governor,” broke in Annetje, trying to keep her muzzling hand over her sweetheart’s mouth. “I should do something. I am sure I don’t know what there is to be done. But look how the patroon always does something right away. He always knows that something is to be done and just what it is. He never waits a minute. The governor always puts things off.”

“So, ho,” retorted Pierre, getting free at last. “What do you know about it? Have you ever heard the saying: Gray heads on green shoulders?”

“Ay, ay, and green heads on gray shoulders.”

“Bah, I am only a year older than you. But gray heads can hide their green shoulders by holding their tongues.”

“Try it then and see. Now, Monsieur St. Vincent, if you please, what is there to be done? Pierre told me before I fetched you up that if something were not done before to-morrow three companies of the guard would be sent up the river to protect Fort Orange.”

“That’s what Lady Marmaduke is afraid of,” broke in Pierre. “With only one company left in the fort and the Red Band gathering—that looks like trouble. There are seven of the patroon’s ships in the harbor at this blessed moment, and that is more than there has been at any one time these ten years past. Some of them have been here a month. Why does he not fill 'em up and let 'em go their way a-trading?”

I had already noticed that more and more men came to the drill as each day went by, but, before this, I had not known the cause. However, I had no intelligence to send on that score; Pierre seemed to know more about it than I did, and so he went back to the city with nothing of account to relate to his mistress for all the danger of his errand.

Since the day on which the patroon had been dismissed in disgrace from the privy-council he had not visited the city in state; not since that first day when Pierre and I had wandered out north of the city by the Collect, where he told me of my sister’s fate. On our return that day, we had nearly reached the Kissing Bridge when the trampling of horses sent us to the bushes for concealment. I remember to this hour how the patroon looked as he rode by with Louis by his side and the Red Band two and two at his heels. They made a brave sight, but since his disgrace, the patroon had not ridden in that way. When his affairs called him to town he went alone or with only Louis or me to accompany him.

But to-day, he resolved to ride in state. An early summons came to wait upon the master. By ten o’clock a splendid retinue was ready to set out for New York. Van Volkenberg was at the head with Louis upon one side and me upon the other. Behind us, in rows of four, came one hundred and fifty chosen men in the full livery of the Red Band. They wore cloth of a dark olive green, and on the left arm the band of brilliant red, which was their distinctive badge of service. The English flag and the patroon’s banner flapped merrily as we galloped over the half-frozen ground. This was the very road over which I had followed Louis to the printing shop of Bradford. I compared that night to this day and wondered what was the meaning of all this display of force. Could it be that the wheel had come full circle? Was it the patroon’s turn now? He had often told me that it was dangerous to drive a sullen foe to bay.

Meantime the patroon rode proudly at the head of his company. We were half way to the city when he motioned me to ride a little closer, and Louis to fall back out of earshot.

“St. Vincent,” he said, “do you remember the conversation we had a few days ago? Well, I am going to take your advice. I am an old man, most too old to begin, and it is ill work to teach an old dog new tricks, as the proverb says; but I shall do it, by the grace of God, I’ll do it.” He broke into a boisterous laugh. “Oh, it makes me feel young again. I’ve been like one gone mad, many a time of late. Somehow I feel free again. Your rough words the other day put new life into me. Thank you, Vincent, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Perhaps you do not remember what you said. That is often the case with people who do more good by their stray acts than they know at the time. Ah, Vincent, you don’t know how far a little word sometimes reaches. Maybe it was only your tone at the time. At any rate, I have turned over a new leaf. Can you guess what I am going to do?”

“No,” I answered. “I cannot.”

“’Tis this: I am going to offer my household to the Earl in defense of the city.”

He jerked this out in quick sudden breaths as if it hurt him to say it, and there was a tightening about his lips that seemed to indicate the struggle it had taken and was still taking to keep him up to this honorable resolution. But there was a doubt in my mind, however glad I was to see this change in a man whom I had given up as almost altogether bad.

“Do you think he will accept your help?” I asked, putting my doubt into words.

A shadow crossed his face.

“I have thought of that. I know that my motives are likely to be misunderstood in the light of my past actions. But I must put up with that. A man can do no better than his best.”

He made the sign of the cross and then sat square in the saddle again. We were now hard upon the Landport where workmen were still busy hanging the clumsy gates that had for so long a time been out of use. We rode through the open way and into the crooked streets of the city. In a moment they were swarming with people, come out to see the Red Band go by. Never before had it made such a fine appearance. Never before had the people tossed up their caps like one man and cried: “God save the good patroon, the defender of the city.” For rumor had gone hotfoot ahead of us and, somehow, the people were aware of the errand which had brought us to the city. They knew that the Red Band had come to fight for the town. Old hate was forgotten. The frequent brawls with the patroon’s sailors were not called to mind. And all went as merry as the bells of Trinity on a wedding day.

The patroon was proud of his display, and took a roundabout way to reach the fort. When we drew near, all the neighborhood was in confusion. A great crowd blocked the street from one side to another. Everyone’s attention was fixed on the stone gateway and the massive gates that barred it. When I saw that the gates were closed, I wondered whether there had been an alarm. My thought was soon answered. A bugle from within the walls rang out clear on the frosty air. The notes, beautiful as they were, fell on my ears with a chill foreboding sound. The murmur of the people softened. The great iron-bound gates swung back. There was the throbbing sound of a drum and the dull tramp of soldiers marching. Three of the four garrison companies passed out in a long narrow line, down to the river, and embarked to Albany. This is what Pierre had foretold. The soldiers were gone. The city was now almost defenseless. But its only other danger, the patroon, had espoused its cause. No wonder the people shouted: “God save the good patroon, the defender of the city.”

When the Earl’s troops were gone, followed by many of the spectators, I glanced through the gate into the courtyard of the fort. The Earl of Bellamont, surrounded by most of the members of his council, were still seated upon their horses in front of the executive mansion. Patroon Van Volkenberg gave orders for his troops to remain drawn up in the street; then he rode into the paved courtyard of the fort, accompanied by Louis and myself. After he had saluted the governor and his associates, the patroon cleared his throat a little and began to speak.

“Your Excellency,” he said, “I come to beg no favors, to make no excuses. I have been guilty of many acts which I performed with my eyes wide open, knowing what the consequences would be, and I have likewise suffered the consequences as I should. But that is not what I came to talk about. By the grace of God, I have suffered a change of heart. If it is not too late I should like to make amends for my past acts. Vincent, present this paper to the Earl.”

I handed the document which he had withdrawn from his pocket to the Earl. Bellamont’s face took on an expression of surprise as he read. Suddenly he exclaimed:

“Why, this is the title to your estate of Hanging Rock.”

“Yes, it is that,” answered the patroon. “I know that it is your desire to recall the lavish grants of your predecessor; and I have come to see, in spite of my former acts, that they are a danger to the safety of the province. Therefore I have brought myself to the point of resigning my claim into your hands, hoping thereby to make some amends for what I have done in the past times to oppose the purpose of your administration. I have brought my household with me, armed and at your service, and I pray that you will receive them into the fort, subject them to your own officers, and let me repair to my home until you have disposed of my title as the welfare of the province prompts you.”

Van Volkenberg had spoken with calmness and respect; but for the moment I was in doubt whether the governor with his strong prejudices would trust him. He did not know, of course, as I did, what had prompted the patroon to this act of humility and grace. However, after a few minutes’ hesitation, the Earl thanked him cordially. He consulted with his advisers and they came to the conclusion that it would be best to accept the offer of the patroon. The fact that he himself would return to his manor-house for the time being and leave the command of the troops wholly to the governor won them over. They all shook hands with him, and Bellamont thanked him again for the way in which he had come to the rescue of the city.

“We shall let bygones be bygones,” he said. “We have had our quarrel. To-morrow there will be a meeting of my council at the usual hour, at which I hope you will be present.”

For just a moment there seemed likely to be an interruption in store for us. Louis, who had not shared my conversation with the Earl, seemed amazed. His eyes stood out like knobs. His great misshapen mouth opened. He threw back his head with that weird contortion of his face that preceded his peculiar, ghastly laugh. I caught in my reins lest my horse should startle at the sound. But Louis subsided slowly without a laugh and took on again that solemn look of acquiescence.

“A mere freak of his,” said the patroon in explanation. “A curiosity of mine, but he means no harm.”

With that they parted harmoniously and we three, the patroon, Louis and I, rode back to the manor-house. We who had gone into town in such pomp returned alone without a man to bear us company. And a hundred and fifty of the best troops of the province were in the fort, ready to guard it against attack.

Later that evening, Louis Van Ramm was nowhere to be found. The patroon seemed alarmed at his henchman’s absence.

“He has never left me without permission before, St. Vincent. Did he say anything to you?”

He had said nothing to me. No one else had any notion of the dwarf’s whereabouts. We went out upon the terrace in the vague hope of seeing or hearing something of him. Suddenly the distinct sound of clattering horse hoofs fell upon the night. The wind blew in gusts and, in a moment, the sound had vanished. But the wind came again in a moment and the hoof beats with it, louder than before. And then, fast and clear, the triple ring of a horse at full gallop along the frozen highway to the north.

“Someone is abroad to-night,” said the patroon.

“Yes, a horseman,” I replied.

We both spoke calmly. An observer might have wondered why we had not cried out, for the sound came suddenly like one speaking in the dark. For my part, I suspected Louis, though how or what I did not know. The patroon may have thought likewise, for he asked:

“Who is that, do you suppose?”

“A horseman,” I replied again.

There was no other answer to be had. The rider passed the park without stopping or slackening his speed, which we could now tell was breakneck and wild to the extreme. Where he was going and for what purpose we could not tell. Gradually the sound died away and left us gaping at the blank dark. After that we went back into the house, the patroon muttering curses upon the dwarf for his absence.